


Split in Two

by Tainted_Bliss



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tainted_Bliss/pseuds/Tainted_Bliss
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley owns a flower shop. Aziraphale owns a book shop. Never before have their paths met. Until now.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Wowee, first fic in this fandom! How fun. This is probably going to be bad, but oh well, what other way do I have of combatting a deteriorating mental state?

Crowley didn’t believe in soulmates. He didn’t. Why’d he have to follow destiny’s plans when he could make his own? Who cared if his soulmate was supposedly the perfect person for him, he should be allowed to choose who he loved. So what if his heart clenched every time he saw a couple walking hand in hand, oblivious of everything but each other? It was out of disgust, obviously. It didn’t matter to him that most find their soulmates around his age, it didn’t. He certainly didn’t care that his friends had already found their soulmates, not at all.

He didn’t need a soulmate, he was happy on his own. Crowley had a good life, with his little flower shop, and his Bentley. A soulmate would just interrupt it with their own problems, or something. Relationships require time and effort that he didn’t have right now. That was what he told his friends whenever they pestered him about going to conventions.

Your soulmark, a tattoo above your heart, was the missing half of your soulmate’s tattoo. When you touched, your tattoos would glow and complete themselves. At conventions, people went around shaking hands, hoping to find their soulmate by shaking as many hands as possible. Hoping that the next person they touch would light up their soulmark. It sounded depressing, in Crowley’s opinion. Even if he wanted to find his soulmate (which he didn’t), he’d rather they met naturally, instead of in a hot, crowded convention center, surrounded by people desperate to find the connection they had.

A soft beeping pulled Crowley from his thoughts. He swiped away the alarm on his phone and grabbed his plant mister. As he walked through the aisles, spraying his plants and keeping an eye out for any brown spots, he thought of one of his regulars’ comments about maybe splurging on an automated system that would water the plants for him. The gardener huffed a sigh, waving the idea away. Not only did he not have enough money, but it also took away the personal touch of gardening. Watering the plants by hand distracted him from boredom anyway, it wasn’t like business was booming or anything.

* * *

  
  


Aziraphale sighed as he closed up. It was another slow day for his book shop. If he had a choice, he’d stop selling the books altogether, as he loved all the books in his collection. However, taxes still were a thing that had to be done, so what could you do.

He had been rather successful when they first opened. There weren’t a whole lot of small privately-owned bookshops what with corporate consolidation, and people appreciate the quaint, homey feel of his store. But apparently, that just wasn’t enough these days. Several regulars mentioned setting up a website, or a facebook page, but Aziraphale wasn’t really tech-savvy. Newt had tried to help him once, but not only had the site crashed, his laptop somehow short-circuited as well. Aziraphale was sure that Newt meant well, but good Lord, that man should not be trusted around any electronic device. 

Flicking off the lights, Aziraphale made his way to the flat upstairs where he lived. It was small and cozy and  _ him _ , but he always felt as though it was missing something. That something was missing from his life. Or rather, some _ one _ .

It wasn’t as though he was in a hurry to find his soulmate. Aziraphale was rather satisfied with the way his life was now, but… he just couldn’t help but wonder. What did his soulmate look like? When would they meet? What were they doing right now? Were they thinking of him too?

As Aziraphale took off his clothes, getting ready for bed, he paused in front of his mirror, looking at the pair of colourless, feathered wings that lay above his heart. Sometimes he mused what his soulmate’s tattoo looked like. What went with a pair of wings? A bird? An angel? A wad of cash? 

Slipping on his pyjamas and snuggling under his covers, Aziraphale thought of the bedtime stories his mother would tell him about soulmates. The idea that God would split your heart in two and give one to your soulmate, how the action caused the soulmarks on your chest. She would tell him about famous couples like Cleopatra and Antony, Achilles and Patroclus, and Adam and Eve. It was silly, really, but it was one of his only memories with his mother. Her soothing voice, the feel of her hand running through his hair, the scent of her perfume that tickled his nose. It was to these memories that Aziraphale drifted off to sleep.

  
  



	2. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after posting the first chapter, I had to go paint my sister's new apartment. And let me tell you, it was horrible. They say that assembling furniture is the ultimate trial of a relationship, but in my opinion, besides raising a child, painting your home is the ultimate trial. Also, tomorrow I'm going to Japan for 2 and a half weeks, so... slow updates, if any? Slow updates if any in general, actually.

The morning sun shone down through a gap in the curtains, disturbing Crowley from his sleep. He squinted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he rolled over to check the time. Yup, just as he suspected. It was way too early for anyone to be up. However, the sun deemed to disregard that fact and shone like nobody’s business. The weather never did listen to reason anymore.

Groaning as he accepted the fact that he would not be able to fall back asleep, Crowley climbed out of bed. Groggily, he trudged into the bathroom, taking care of his hygienic needs. After, as he changed his clothes, Crowley brushed a hand over his soulmark: A snake eating its own tail to create an ouroboros.

He hated it. 

It was a reminder that he could not escape Destiny, that apparently his life had been planned out already, and any decisions that he thought he made of his own free will was preplanned. 

There was also the belief that your soulmark indicated something about yourself. Crowley obviously didn’t believe that either, like he didn’t believe in soulmates, but if he did… 

Well, he wasn’t too sure about the connotations of having an ouroboros as a soulmark. In old mythology, the ouroboros, or the creature that made up the ouroboros wreaked havoc on the earth before restoring peace by biting its tail. It was a symbol of life and death, the infinite cycle of human life. Besides, what would accompany an ouroboros? 

Crowley decided to purge these thoughts from his mind and get on with his day. Who cared about his soulmark? It would probably be a long time before he met his soulmate.

  
  


* * *

Anathema had been pestering him to get some decorations that would “brighten the place up a little and add a little colour!” for a while now and had finally got tired of his waffling, deciding to take matters into her own hands. Aziraphale had been kidnapped for a shopping spree that she insisted to pay for. And while that was sweet and all (probably just making up for Newt’s destructive tendencies with electronics), Aziraphale couldn’t very well let her pay for things that she wasn’t even using.

So far, they’d found a few pieces of wall art, all with book-related puns (because puns are apparently the epitome of comedy, and he ran a bookshop). His favourite was of a little dinosaur reading a book with the caption “Thesaurus”. There were a few that Anathema had recommended, like “When I think about books, I touch my shelf”, and while they were hilarious, he didn’t think it appropriate and besides, what if it drove customers away? If he didn’t have to worry about money, that’d be absolutely fine, fewer customers meant less of his books lost. However, fewer customers meant less money, and in this case, that was a big no-no.

Aziraphale tuned in to Anathema’s rambling, probably something about nuclear power plants and the destruction of the environment, in time to hear her say, “Oh, plants!”. That was the only warning he got before he was abruptly dragged into a little flower shop whose awning proclaimed it to be the “Garden of Eden”.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Crowley was in the middle of threatening a particularly limp-leaved fern with death via woodchipper when the tinkling of a bell interrupted him, signalling customers. “You better get your pathetic act together, especially in front of these customers,” he hissed. “Don’t think this is over.” 

He quietly observed his customers, a tall chattering woman and a plump gentleman, who were currently browsing his selection of succulents. They didn’t really seem like the type who usually entered little shops like his to buy plants. His regular customers were usually people with too much time on their hands, like retired folk or white suburban moms that don’t work, and the occasional hippie. Hipsters were an endangered species slowly becoming extinct as time went on, he noticed. That or they were all migrating to British Columbia. 

The odd couple had moved on to potted flowers at this point and were arguing over a pot of begonias. Now that Crowley thought about it, the two did have a sort of peculiar air to them, though not the same peculiar-ness a hipster exuded. Well, maybe the woman did. She looked a bit like what one might picture when they heard the phrase “urban witch”. She had long, flowing brown hair, half of which was piled atop her head in a bun, round glasses that Crowley thought had gone out of style several decades ago, and wore a modest blue dress. The woman also seemed very severe from the way she was talking.

The man, who was now inspecting one of the several bouquets that Crowley arranged, gave off a more calm feeling surprisingly enough. He was, after all, wearing a suit that looked like it belonged in the Victorian Era complete with what appeared to be a pocket watch. Did they even sell pocket watches nowadays? Crowley wouldn’t be surprised if the man made it himself, supply and demand and whatnot. 

  
Crowley straightened as the two approached his counter, a myriad of potted plants and bouquets in their arms. As his eyes roved over each item he mentally catalogued the price of each and quickly typed into the calculator to come up with a price. He didn’t have a cash register or barcodes or whatever, but he managed, he had a system. It was, however, a very complex and unique system, and no one else wanted to learn it. So… no employees.

“That’ll be £67.38, do you want them bagged or boxed?” he asked curtly. Sure, his business may be slowly dying, but that didn’t mean he wanted to interact with people for longer than needed.

“Ah, um, bags please?” the man stammers out. Crowley hummed in acknowledgement, efficiently bagging their things, taking care that nothing would get damaged. He paused to collect money from the man, and that’s when it happened.

* * *

  
  


A soft golden glow came from the man’s chest, and in his peripheral, Aziraphale barely registers that he too glowed. His heart stutters and his whole world seems to stop as he stares into the eyes of his soulmate. They’re golden, like honey running over a molten sun, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Then he blinks, and suddenly he can breathe again.

“Well,” Aziraphale clears his throat. “This is certainly a pleasant surprise. What’s your name, my dear?”

There was a pause where his soulmate seemed to snap out of the same kind of trance Aziraphale had been in. He croaked out, “Crowley. Antony J. Crowley”

“Crowley,” he echoed. “I’m Aziraphale.”


	3. Reflection

Crowley went back home that evening in a daze. He had barely been able to do anything after his newly found soulmate had left with his phone number, address, and plans to meet over the weekend. It was silly, their conversation had lasted for two, maybe three minutes, but it was all he could think about. 

_ He had almost missed his soulmate’s name, he was still hung up over the way his name sounded in Aziraphale’s mouth, the gentle, tender blues of his eyes, the soft and fluffy curls, and the fact that all those features belonged to his soulmate. His soulmate who he thought he would never meet, who he never planned to meet. _

_ Aziraphale had a stupid little grin as he said, “Well, I, um, I certainly didn’t expect...” He gestures vaguely, flapping his hands between him and Crowley. “This.” He lets out a nervous chuckle and clasps them in front of him. “Oh… I’m sorry, I’m being so silly. It’s just that… I’ve been waiting to meet you for so long now.” _

_ Crowley’s mouth opened and closed several times as he struggled to respond, not unlike a fish. How was he supposed to respond? Admit that he’d spent his life resenting the fact that he had a soulmark? That he’d convinced himself he would never find his soulmate and he was better off for it? That he could never shake the deep, pervasive loneliness in his bones, and he always thought that the only way to get rid of it was to meet his soulmate?  _

_ Eventually, he settled for looking away and feigning a casual shrug. “Yeah, I- I get it. Totally. Um.” He darted a glance back to Aziraphale and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve kinda still got a business to run here, so… You think we could maybe do this another time?” _

_ “Oh, of course, my dear! I understand completely, I am a small business owner as well.” Aziraphale reassured him. “If you’re available then, perhaps we could meet over the weekend?” He rummaged around his pockets before producing a business card and offering it to Crowley. _

_ “Yeah, I’m available.” Crowley took the proffered card, glancing at the pastel blue writing on cream before tucking it in his pocket. He pushed the little business card holder across the counter closer to Aziraphale. “You wanna text about the details later?” _

_ A sheepish look came across the other’s face. “Oh, um, actually, you can’t really text me anything. I only have a landline, unfortunately.”  _

_ Crowley’s gaze flickered down to his soulmate’s outfit. “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, I suppose we’ll discuss details over the phone, then.” _

_ “Yes, I suppose so. Do have a good day, my dear.”  _

Crowley buried his head in his hands. He didn’t know how to feel about this… situation. This disaster that was his life. There wasn’t any room in his life for a soulmate or any type of romantic relationship. He had made sure of it. However, he had never guessed that his soulmate would turn out to be so… angelic. Not only in personality, but in appearance. With the chubbiness of a cherub and pale blonde curls that appeared almost white, it wasn’t hard to picture a pair of white wings extending from his back. 

The gardener could only hope that their first interaction was rocky enough that his soulmate would be scared off. Though, Aziraphale seemed like the type to be a hopeless romantic, who couldn’t give up on their soulmate. He sighed and took a swig of whiskey. They were supposed to be perfect matches, right? Maybe if he acted completely differently, Aziraphale would distance himself from Crowley. 

* * *

Aziraphale huffed, finally able to rest and relax. Today was… a lot. When he agreed to go on a shopping spree with Anathema, he had no clue that he was going to find his soulmate that day. Then again, nobody did find their soulmate when they expected to, did they? It wasn’t as if they could plan ahead, scheduling their soulmate meeting whenever it was convenient for them. 

He took a sip of wine and leaned back in his chair, thinking. Crowley, his soulmate… He had seemed a bit closed off. Before they had touched and their soulmarks reacted, Crowley seemed more open and relaxed. Obviously, Aziraphale didn’t expect him to reveal his whole life story, they were still strangers after all, but it was almost as if Crowley was… apathetic to him because Aziraphale was his soulmate. 

No, that was silly. He was probably just nervous. Who wouldn’t be nervous, realizing that you just met your soulmate? Being hit with the knowledge that the complete stranger standing in front of you was your destiny. Aziraphale’s heart had been racing, and yet Crowley had given on this nonchalance that bordered on hostility. Well, people did express emotions differently. 

Aziraphale sighed and rubbed a hand over his chest. The first thing he had done upon arriving home was to inspect his newly completed soulmark. A snake that was eating its own tail, with feathered wings on its back sat above his heart; proof of his soulmate. A slow smile spread across Aziraphale’s face. Yes, their meeting was messy and awkward, but it was fate. Things would turn out fine in the end, he was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out, I'm struggling with mental health right now. I feel like my creativity is drained. I can barely churn out stuff for my design class, much less fanfic. But I do hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought. Also shameless plug of my tumblr.


	4. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets in touch with Crowley, but the gardener is too afraid of the uncertainty that comes with soulmates and decides to bail.

The phone rang. A repetitive melody echoed throughout the sparsely furnished flat. Crowley, who had been pruning his bonsai tree by glaring menacingly at it, froze. It had been 4 days, 16 hours, 3 minutes and approximately 46 seconds since he had met his soulmate. Not that he was counting. And ever since then, he had been dreading a  _ certain _ phone call from a  _ certain _ somebody. After the first 3 days, he had thought that  _ maybe _ he was in the clear.  _ Maybe _ Aziraphale had forgotten or was waiting for Crowley to call him, which uh… was not happening any time soon. The ringing ended, as the answering machine picked up. After a few seconds, a familiar voice came from the phone.

“Um, hi Crowley. It’s me, Aziraphale. I’m so sorry I hadn’t called sooner. There were some, um… technical difficulties that were just resolved. I wanted to ask after your availability for this weekend, so we can get to planning the date.” 

There was a click and then silence. It stretched on and on, encompassing the apartment until it swallowed him whole. The silence was somehow deafening, blocking off the rest of the world, whether or not he liked it. He didn’t know how long he stood there, letting the silence drown his thoughts in its all-consuming nothingness when a car horn from the street snapped Crowley out of his state. He set down his hand pruner shakily and closed his eyes.

It’s okay. He could do this. He could figure a way out of this whole “soulmate” thing. It was fine. Maybe if he ignored Aziraphale for long enough, he would give up eventually. Or acting snippy and rude, that could discourage Aziraphale, right? Or maybe if he just moved without telling him, Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to find him, therefore no soulmate. 

Crowley had never thought about what he would do if he ever found his soulmate. He had always just assumed he never would. Having never really been loved or been in love before, it only made sense to him that he’d be in the small percentage that never found their soulmate, dying a lonely death before his time came. He hadn’t made plans for a future with a soulmate, and now, faced with the uncertainty of love, he didn’t know what to do. The only option he had to continue with his plan was to push his soulmate away, deny Aziraphale’s existence and role in his life, and hopefully move on. 

Okay, it was simple. All he had to do was call Aziraphale, tell him that he didn’t have any free time this week, or in the foreseeable future. Wash, rinse, repeat until Aziraphale gave up on him and walked away.

Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Crowley dialled the number. It had only rung once when Aziraphale picked up. 

“Hello, A.Z. Fell’s Antique Bookshop, Aziraphale speaking, how may I help you?”

“Er, hi Aziraphale, it’s Crowley.”

“Oh, Crowley! How are you doing, my dear?”

“G-good, I suppose. I’m, um, I’m calling in response to your message.”

“Yes, yes, of course. So this weekend, when are you available?”

“Well, actually, something just came up, and I’m afraid I’m busy all weekend.”

“Oh, that’s such a shame. Well then, when next are you free?”

“Uh, for the foreseeable future, I won’t have any spare time for a date.”

“You really shouldn’t be overworking yourself like that, darling. Are you sure you can’t take a break any time soon?”

“Unfortunately no, I can’t.”

“Hm. Okay. That’s fine, dear. Call me when you do have some time, alright?”

“Alright. Bye”

“Toodle-loo. You take care now.”

Crowley set down the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Good, now all he had to do was not call Aziraphale, under any circumstances, and all would be swell. He checked the time and realizing he was going to be late to open shop, rushed out the door, shoving away thoughts of Aziraphale for a later time.


	5. Tied together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is not dead, I swear. In all seriousness though... I don't really know where exactly I want to take this. I'm running out of creativity, school is draining me, and my mental health is not what it should be. I'll try and draw this to a quick close, but I don't really want to. I want to continue writing, but I don't have the motivation.

Aziraphale waited patiently for two days. Two days, with thoughts of Crowley floating through his mind. Two days, imagining their first date. Two days, eagerly answering all the calls. 

On the third day, Aziraphale started feeling a bit off. A light headache at the beginning of the day which, while annoying, wasn’t the worst thing in the world. However, by the end of the day, it was pounding; waves of agony bordering on a migraine. The only thoughts that occupied his mind by evening were of his soulmate. He fell into a restless sleep that third night, after downing some ibuprofen. 

On the fourth day, he woke up sweating with a pounding migraine. He fumbled for the bottle of ibuprofen he had left on his bedside table, hoping that a dose would help, despite a feeling in his gut that told him it would be futile. Fever flooded his veins, heat exuding from his body. Aziraphale tried to will himself up from the bed to get to the telephone, but his limbs would not cooperate, too weak to function. Exhaustion weighed him down, though he had just awoken, and he could not fight it. Eventually, he was dragged back into oblivion, with the sense that something was not right. 

On the fifth day, to Aziraphale’s deep distress, he woke up in a hospital bed. This in itself was concerning, but not enough to cause that much distress. A key detail that should be noted, though, was that someone else was also in the hospital bed, spooning him. After a moment of panic where Aziraphale shifted to turn and face the person holding him, he relaxed as flaming red hair came into his line of sight and he realized that someone was Crowley. 

As he lay there, wondering about what had happened, why both of them had ended up in the hospital, and why they were allowed to rest in the same bed, a sudden urge came to him. Aziraphale wanted to see the corresponding soulmark on Crowley’s body. In their position and clothing, it would be quite difficult to see without Crowley waking, and Aziraphale suspected that Crowley would not appreciate waking up half-naked, with his soulmate staring at the soulmark. Quelling the random want, Aziraphale settled back into sleep, nuzzling into his soulmate’s embrace.

  
  
  
  


When Crowley had woken up with a migraine, he had just assumed it was a hangover before realizing that he had gone to bed completely sober. Heaving himself out of bed, he stumbled into the bathroom. He leaned heavily on the counter as he rummaged for aspirin or something. Whatever might help. After downing a couple of pills, he leaned there, practically sitting on the counter, trying to catch his breath, when he felt a stabbing pain in his heart. Crying out, he clutched at his chest as fire ran through his bloodstream. 

Clenching his teeth, Crowley pushed off the counter and staggered back into the bedroom, snatching his cellphone from the bedside table before practically collapsing into bed. Barely struggling to keep his eyes open, the gardener opened the phone app and dialled 999. As darkness filled his vision, he heard the operator answer. 

  
  


He faded back into consciousness very aware of someone laying in his arms. Groggily, Crowley opened his eyes, seeing primarily platinum blond curls. Blinking more into awareness, he looked down to see the very person he was trying to avoid cuddled up against his chest. 

Well, fuck.

He knew life hated his guts, but this was some next-level shit. Fate just had it out for him, huh?

Slowly, Crowley tried to extricate himself from Aziraphale’s embrace, hoping to leave quietly. He unfurled, turning from his side onto his back. As he was figuring out how to free his arm from its current position as Aziraphale’s pillow, the bookshop owner shifted, pinning down Crowley’s chest instead of his arm. Snuggling in closer, seeking Crowley’s presence despite being asleep.

Hm.

Well, that was an interesting feeling. Very… soft and gooey inside his chest. 

He hated it. 

Ew.

Make it stop.

He considered the pillow, debating whether it was worth it to attempt an Indiana Jones switch. Then Aziraphale made an adorable small snuffling sound, not unlike a kitten, and Crowley considered suffocating himself with it to stop the feelings that were attacking his heart. 

Unfortunately, before he could follow through with either, a nurse walked in. 

“Oh, you’re awake! Wonderful.”, she chirped. 

“Er… yeah. Why- um, well, how, uh-” Crowley stuttered, now faced with someone with answers, he no longer knew how to voice his questions.

“What happened?” Thankfully, the nurse spoke panic. “Well, it appears you and your soulmate experienced Acute Soul Separation. I’m guessing that you guys met recently?” Getting a nod of confirmation, she continued, “Yeah, with some mates, the soulbond is extremely sensitive, and needs a certain period of time to settle. Basically, you two didn’t spend enough time together when the bond was first created, and your souls reacted similarly to a broken bond.”

The florist paled. A broken bond was practically a death sentence. One couldn’t survive with half a soul. If one soulmate died, the other soon followed. There was no known way to prevent it, no way to sever a bond without major health issues to either soulmate. 

“So… what does that mean? Are we okay to leave the hospital?” Crowley asked, becoming increasingly more agitated. 

“I should really let the doctor explain, but all in all, you’ll be fine as long as you stay close.” the nurse smiled, unaware of the mental breakdown Crowley was trying to stop.

“Oh. Great.” 


	6. pyjama pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair with one braincell are released into the wild.

Having been cleared for release shortly after, and given strict instructions to remain within at least arm's length of each other for a minimum of two weeks, Crowley and Aziraphale left the hospital. After a little debate, and figuring out where they were, the two decided to head over to Aziraphale’s flat. It was a nice enough day, so they walked from the hospital. 

As they meandered along, Crowley couldn’t help but notice all the couples that they passed along their way. Some dragging along their offspring, some sitting outside having a chat, some simply holding hands as they walked down the road. Crowley’s eyes lingered on a couple’s joined hands. 

His knuckles brushed the back of Aziraphale’s hand. 

Crowley’s fingers twitched involuntarily as if wanting to reach out. Traitors. That was completely against Crowley’s end goal of defying fate and making Aziraphale hate him. Because the only way to protect his soulmate was to push him away, so far out of his reach that Crowley couldn’t lay a finger on him, even if he wanted to.

Then Aziraphale intertwined their pinkies, and all thoughts left his mind.

His face flushed red, and he turned his head away from Aziraphale. He didn’t want his soulmate seeing him like this, having such a reaction to this… this casual intimacy. 

But he didn’t pull away. He told himself it was because the doctor told them not to, but a voice in his head whispered that he knew exactly why he didn’t pull away. And it wasn’t because he cared about his health.

When they reached Aziraphale’s flat, and the bookkeeper had to let go to rummage around for his key, Crowley had to restrain himself from reaching for his hand once more. That wouldn’t help anyone. He was stronger than his emotions, he could control his impulses. 

Crowley followed Aziraphale into his flat and surveyed the area. There was comfy-looking furniture with piles of pillows arranged haphazardly around a general living area. Books littered almost every available surface, the only place that seemed to be safe was the kitchen. The yellow and beige colour scheme in the apartment would have been boring anywhere else, but knowing that this was where Aziraphale lived made it seem inviting. As his eyes swept over the cluster of comfort that was his soulmate’s home, Crowley realized that it looked pretty much exactly how he thought it would. Comfy. Soft. Perfect.

Trailing close behind, Crowley followed Aziraphale into the kitchen where the plump man flitted around, preparing tea and some sweets as he chatted away. Crowley just listened, making confirmative noises at appropriate times to encourage him further. 

He wasn’t really processing anything, mostly because he wasn’t exactly sure what Aziraphale was talking about; it sounded like the work of some poets whose work went right over his head in high school. It was nice, though. Listening to Aziraphale’s voice, letting the words flow right over him and lose their meaning. 

The bookseller led Crowley to his living room and handed him a mug of tea. Aziraphale sat primly on one end of a soft, plush sofa. Crowley slumped next to him, close but not too close that they’ll accidentally bump knees or anything of the sort. As they settled, Aziraphale quieted. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve a tendency to ramble.” He brushed back a stray curl. “Um, is there anything, in particular, you want to do to pass the time?”

Crowley hesitated, “I mean… whatever you want to do is fine.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care.”

“Um, o-oh. Okay then, uh.” Aziraphale glanced around his flat. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be bored the whole time you’re here. My hobbies aren’t that… interesting.”

“Mm… Honestly, as long as you can play some Queen albums, I’ll be fine with whatever we do.” 

“Well, I have a CD player, but I’m not sure if I have any songs by… uh, Queen, was it? What genre does she sing?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley fell silent and slowly shifted to face Aziraphale completely for the first time since they met. 

“Do you not know Queen? The band? Freddie Mercury?” the gardener questioned.

“Um…” Aziraphale’s non-answer was all the confirmation Crowley needed.  
  


He finally knew why Aziraphale was his soulmate. It wasn’t for love or anything like that. It was to teach the man some culture.

* * *

  
  
  


They were halfway listening to all of Queen’s songs for the second time (Once for the initial reaction, twice to absorb and dissect, and thrice to fully appreciate it, apparently) when Crowley finally passed out. He slumped against Aziraphale’s shoulder, phone falling from his limp hand and onto the floor with a clatter. Careful not to disturb Crowley too much, he leaned down to retrieve the phone still playing _ Under Pressure _through its tinny speakers(not the “ideal way to enjoy their musical genius”, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers).

After turning off the music, Aziraphale turned to shake Crowley awake. With a jolt, lanky limbs tumbled to the floor. Wide, golden eyes flickered around the room, taking in their surroundings. 

“Oh! So sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Aziraphale fretted. As he spoke, Crowley’s honey-coloured eyes finally landed on him and relaxed as he seemed to remember where he was and why he was there

“It’s fine, my bones can take a fall.” He yawned, waving away the other’s concern.

“Ah, well then. Shall we… head off to bed?” 

“Mm.” Crowley drowsily got on his feet and stretched, revealing a strip of alabaster skin. “Alright.”

A faint blush came across Aziraphale’s cheeks, as he cleared his throat and quickly averted his gaze from the peeking belly. “R-right. Um, right this way, then.” he stuttered out, leading the way to his bedroom. 

Aziraphale cringed at the sight of his room. “Ah, sorry for the mess, dear, usually it’s so much neater, but with the, um, impromptu hospital visit, well…” he blabbered, rushing over to pick up the duvet that had fallen on the floor. He considered changing it out for a clean one, or at least the duvet cover but decided that it was too much work for how late it was. 

Grabbing his sleepwear, he paused before picking out one of his comfiest t-shirts and loosest pants. He shuffled over to where Crowley was sitting on the bed, slowly nodding off. Laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, Aziraphale gently prompted the other to get changed.

Crowley mumbled an affirmative and pulled his shirt off. Aziraphale let out a strangled off squeak, and turned around, cheeks burning. 

‘I, uh, I’ll be in the bathroom if you need me.” he stuttered out.

“Wait.” Crowley’s hand closed over his wrist before he could escape. “Too far.”

…. Ah. 

That’s right.

Ignoring his pounding heart, Aziraphale tentatively changed into his pyjamas, averting his eyes from Crowley who was doing the same. Sure, they may be soulmates, but they were still basically strangers. Finally, after brushing their teeth and whatnot, with a short impromptu search for a spare toothbrush (they really didn’t think this through, did they?), the two were ready for bed. 

“Do you care what side of the bed you sleep on?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mnn, no.” Crowley yawned. “Just sleep.” 

They slipped under the covers and settled in for the night. 

“Good night, dear.”

“G’night, angel”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this hasn't updated since before the pandemic happened. Sorry, y'all. I told myself that I would work on this and art, and well, it's mostly been art. And Animal Crossing. So much Animal Crossing. Um, you can check out my art Instagram under the same name, @tainted_bliss or my Tumblr @lonelylittleuser if you want to see the shitty art that I've been doing? which, I'll admit, still haven't got a lot of pieces there.
> 
> Also, I want to thank everyone who left kudos, bookmarked, subscribed, or commented. It's really fulfilling and motivating to see such engagement, and I apologize that I don't reply to most comments. Please know that I love each and every single comment I get, I love to hear your insights, your reactions, everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and the fuel to my motivation. No pressure or anything


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